Taking down a mark, side by side
by SkyHighDisco-new
Summary: Or, five times Yondu and Peter actually cooperated.
1. Cheeky lil Sherlock Holmes

**~~~Hi, people! This five-part piece was inspired by a tumblr post, which I couldn't stop thinking about since I first laid eyes upon it and eventually another fiction had to be born. I regretfully don't exactly remember who posted it, but the root of idea mainly comes from there so if you spot similarities, be gentle with me. :) I would also like to thank good LaylaBinx whose** **"** **Carry on** **"** **had offered a gentle push in creating these chapters. Her writing is so amazing and dynamic and inspiring and you should totally check her out if you haven't already.**

 **Anyway, enough talk. Credits done, let's move on to our next adventure.~~~**

.

...

* * *

Come to think of it, this wasn't a bad idea after all.

Of course, it was all Peter's idea, but it wouldn't matter because Yondu would take all credit in the end, that's how it always went. However, it was a minority to complain about, considering Yondu had _listened to him_ for the first time in his Ravager career.

It didn't matter he was nineteen already, no, he was still a "scrappy lil' skipjack" who couldn't lift a blasthammer, (So what, Kraglin couldn't lift it, either, and he never catches any flak for it.) and he was definitely more useful back when he could slip into tiny holes. An excuse that Peter knew by heart already, but it made little sense to commence anything about it, seeing as he probably had more brain than a whole lot of them. Which was, again, true.

Their operation turned out to be a little more complicated than originally calculated because Gef couldn't do math. Sure he missed the fact that a code-breaking security system at the back of the building reacted on thermal radiation, and Peter was one hundred percent sure that was an ultimate moment the Ravagers regretted not taking regular baths. Or at least week ones. Luckily it was only in for team A who dispatched first, and they high-tailed it outta there, providing a nice distraction for the guards. However, front was still tightly secured.

„Team B. Under", Yondu's hoarse voice came over the comm, his own person still safe on an M-ship including Kraglin and Peter by his side. And in their own right, Peter suspected these were gonna fail, too, because sewerage system was by far the most naive entrance ever. And Peter made it clear, but Yondu brushed him off with "shaddup, Quill, or yer dinner."

„Suit yourself, old man", Peter scratched his fresh stubble, shrugging. „Their funeral."

The holopads were on, as well as a "go-pro" projection (as Peter liked to call it) attached to one of the members showing what was currently going on in the sewers, static surrounding the screens. Yondu rolled his eyes, averting crimson eyes towards the ragged teen. If he kept growing any longer, he would surpass the Ravager captain, and the Centaurian didn't know what to think of it. For now, nothing positive. „And why, pray tell would it be?"

Peter pouted at the pads, eyes big and... was that amusement in there? ̶ the team was rounding a slippery corner, water splashing audibly through the comm, silent commands muttered among the members. Couple more feet and they would be at the lower base hangar vent. „Well, for one, if they keep going that way, they're in for a surprise because in three – two – one". Alarms yelled, and group B had barely time to react before there was a loud siren shriek and the vent door parted vertically, offering a nice group of pissed off Krylorians, taking down the two of the Ravagers Peter didn't personally know, so he didn't think any of it. The others managed to take cover, allowing Peter to finish: "there would be a guard leak high- front."

Yondu didn't seam to hear him, instead dissolving in series of cusses and cries. „Draw back. Draw back, dammit! Retreat down forth to the passage. Under the platform."

It all came to the point where both teams started playing cat and mouse with the guards, neither being able to slip in, only succeeding in pissing the facility members off. At one point they'll give zero fucks and just blow the intruders with a missile, so after some more failed entries, Yondu flipped the table. Literally.

„Fuckin' shit..." he growled, striding away from the panels and holo-crap and the damn cockpit, in his mind incubus completely missing that a certain Terran wasn't with them anymore. „I ain't leavin' that fast.

Young Kraglin, who'd hit twenty five who-the-fuck-cares when, looked over his shoulder where he'd been sitting in a co-pilot chair. „Uh... Cap, would ya mind sharin'... why exactly are ya... well, endangering the crew like this, may I be direct."

Yondu's piercing gaze and a faint glow of his fin told Kraglin he better explain himself fast.

„I-I mean, why is this mission so important that yer gonna willingly risk yer crew's own lives."

„I'll give ya a hint. It ends in about six zeros." He walked over and typed into a security keyboard, lowering a ramp. „'Cause our mutual employer wants to see whatever that precious scan ray that lays in that hangar over there is. Easy to count how bad he wants it." Yondu adjusted his coat ̶ equivalent to removing safety off the gun, but the Captain didn't need one, did he? „Now send me the rest'a the crew."

This would've left crickets ruining the silence because Kraglin awkwardly fidgeted his gaze around the cockpit. „Ummm... they're all out in th' field, Cap."

„ _What?"_ Yondu bellowed at his First Mate.

„Ya sent them all off in first two waves, Cap", Kraglin explained. . „There're no more men to send, sir."

„Then how am I supposta ̶ "

„Tsk-tsk", tutted a new voice. „Kraglin, you're a big liar, shame on you. Who taught you that? Oh, right, your life choice!"

„Shoot me", Yondu had time to grumble before turning around and observing a slightly muscular figure that started to gain a reasonable shape under a mop of messy ginger curls and crooked cheeky smile. Peter was standing at the bottom of the ramp all ready, blasters at the belt and Ravager reds on. (Another coat he'd overgrown, Yondu had unwillingly remarked in his head.)

Quill saw the look in his Captain's eyes and mockingly leaned his elbow on the other arm, propping up his chin. „Or, if you prefer to take Kraglin with you, I'll gladly stay in charge of the ship."

„Hell no, boy. I ain't leavin' ya alone on a ship ever again. Get yer feet movin'." Peter just grinned as the elder passed him, and Kraglin shook his head, mouthing at him to take care.

Not even ten steps on dusty ground and Quill already had a remark. „Umm... that isn't a way you'd want to go."

Yondu turned around to look at him provocatively. „Why?"

„I know how much you trust your arrow skills, but despite all the guards you may kill, there are automatic missile drones beyond these walls that are gonna all shoot at you at the same time if you step closer than two hundred feet."

Peter knew that look in Yondu's eyes. _Quill? Yer full of shit._ And he knew he was going to turn around and stagger off, doing it all his way (and then _he_ was being stubborn!?), eventually realizing it was a bad idea, but nevertheless unleashing hell over Quill. Well, not this time.

So Peter reached for a final stray. He sighed. „Look, I know you think I'm shit, okay? I know you think I suck on missions and that I'm a plan ruining son of a bitch, and that there is no more use of me", actually Peter heard that from Horuz from behind a corner some years earlier, but didn't see the point in Yondu's reaction when it's been said to him. Horuz was limping months after, and Peter had gained a new level of veneration for a Ravager captain. The Terran waved his head off, wind carrying his soft curls. „But I really need you to trust me on this, if you want our team to get outta there, and the ray to be fetched."

Yondu's expression remained neutral. Mouth pulled in usual frown, eyes completely still. No emotional stirrings whatsoever, but Peter got it. At least he was in no threat. However the longer he stalled, the more fatal the sabotage his teammates were suffering would turn.

Eventually, Yondu's jaw worked, his eyes squinted, and he nodded off. „Lead the way, kid."

Peter grinned and playfully saluted before taking lead sharp to the right, parallel from the gates. He came to a slide behind a bigger rock, meeting Yondu's confused and agitated face. „Vents and sewerage are secured. Because they are a system", he explained, fidgeting with a crowbar he collected from somewhere around the ship as he began tapping it on the pebbly ground. „And everything under surveillance, especially in a building secured as this, will be thoroughly guarded. All side passages, even the normally low-security breaches." Then, between all those blunt thwacks, there was a distinct sound of metal that made a grin slip back on Quill's face. „But this one isn't the part of the system."

It only took several minutes for Quill to dust off the layers of dirt and loosen the elevated leverage, revealing, with a bit of Yondu's assistance, a round heavy entrance. Sand slipped tickling through into the darkness bellow. „Security might be a tough rock, but the kitchen staff was a bit naughty", Peter gripped the edges of the hole and balanced himself above the opening, dropping down when he was sure. He landed heavily on more dirt eight feet bellow. The impact was soft, so it didn't hurt much, and the teen waited for the Centuarian to drop after him. „They built this passage for ale smugglers decades ago. Couldn't go no better with this boulder up there. It prevented the entrance from being seen", he grinned at the puzzled blue face before him. „Now c'mon, this way. It's a one-way path, it leads to the kitchen cellar door."

The passage was narrow, enough for one person to squeeze at a time and Quill had to bend down to do so. The tunnel stretched on in darkness, but luckily, skilled as hell and sky-high smart, Peter remembered to bring the illuminator. It was a cute little stick-shaped thing of metal and dim glass that shone neon when turned on. It provided enough light for the pair to slowly make their way.

„How d'ya know?" Yondu asked suddenly from behind.

„How did I know what?" Peter had no room to look back, so he kept moving.

„'Bout this place. 'Bout that wall. And how da fuck d'ya know they was gonna be ambushed?"

Peter smirked, knowing Yondu couldn't see him. „Because despite your main entrance security strategies, you didn't study the side ones." Now he staggered a little to throw a short bemused look over his shoulder. „I did."

They reached the end of the tunnel several minutes down, ending with a small set of iron stairs. Luck seemed to smile down at them, because the kitchen was empty.

„What do you think of that?" Peter kept his voice quiet enough, but Yondu didn't miss the merriness in it as they climbed up. „None of the others got nearly as close to our target as we are now."

„Yeah, yeah, don't let it get to yer head", Yondu mumbled, searching around for surveillance tech. „If I was that desperate I would'a taken that dumbass Taserface with me."

„U-huh. Oh, found it!" Quill noted, standing by a door, touching his chin as he stared at the password access keyboard, a ridiculous expression of stupid confusion written on his face. „What the heck, why would they keep the kitchen secured?"

A sharp whistle, and Peter instinctively dodged out of the way. Another moment later and the keyboard was no more, sparks of remaining electricity jumping out of it. The door gaped open. The face Quill made at him then was even funnier. Yondu smirked. „Told ya I wasn't that desperate."

He would've mocked him further to keep the frown that crawled on the boy's face then, but they seriously lacked time. Now facing familiar corridors, and with Kraglin helping over the comm anew, Yondu lead the way, his arrow singing along with him, sweeping everything that moved (or shooted) out of their way. No matter how many times Peter had seen the two in action, he would never stop being fascinated by how the weapon worked. He would have to ask Yondu more about it when he was either in a good mood or drunk, provided he _was_ really drunk. _(_ _"_ _Boy, ya plannin' a mutiny or somethin'?"_ )

But the way it was, Krylor wasn't a planet of dumb. No matter the waltz of the Centaurian and his Yaka, their crew still didn't manage to break through inside, and it certainly didn't help finding the needed scan ray that was so brutally confiscated. Room after room, guard, after guard, until Peter abruptly remembered something.

„Wait!" he had all but shrieked, clamping a hand over Yondu's mouth as he was about to end one of the petrified gunmen and the Yaka clattered on the floor before him. Poor pink-skinned guy was sat against the wall awaiting his end, cowardice and blunt fear clearly written all over his face. Upon realizing what he was doing, Peter abruptly removed his hand at the same time when Yondu gripped his wrist to roughly yank him off. When he looked at him, his eyes were furious.

„What the hell, boy" Peter had to take an uncertain step back. No matter how old he gets, a furious Yondu was still a scary Yondu, and the Terran had to remind himself all over again why the crew was in a constant fear from this vehement Centaurian. „Now listen up, I've been puttin' up with ya and yer shit all day, but this outdone it, Quill. Ye star playin' games with me and then yer tellin' me to stand down before this runt", he fingered the whimpering guard. Peter could hear it, because Yondu's next words have dropped frighteningly quiet. „Jus' tell me why."

The Yaka remained on the floor, so Peter felt courageous enough to speak. „Well... what if we could get him to speak?"

Yondu's eyebrow lifted.

„Y'know", the teen shrugged. „Since we have no backup or anything, I was just thinking if... y' know, we'd cease from killing him and maybe if we could make him talk, he would, maybe, take the lid off and tell us where the ray might be."

Peter knew he sounded pathetic, but that was the least of his problems. He would see Yondu through and if one living soul could once escape the tip of a notorious arrow, then Peter would see it done. This silence lasted shorter than the one before and eventually, Yondu firmly nodded.

„Ya might be onto somethin' here, Quill, I give ya that."

Peter smiled, more to himself, satisfied things were going how he meant for once.

* * *

It didn't turn out exactly as he meant, but it would suffice.

Peter never interrogated anyone before, but he suspected Yondu was doing it rarely based on what he had witnessed all these years. So when the subject of their molesting was tied down to a chair and Yondu let his arrow twirl lazily around their heads, Peter was crouched beside the poor man, trying to be as helpful as he could to both parties.

„I mean, dude, I _totally_ dig that you don't wanna talk right now. We all have secrets, and I've kinda been in your shoes once so I know the whole picture. But see this guy here?" he pointed at Yondu. „He doesn't do mercy, no second chances with him. He's got no respect whatsoever, stars forbid the concept of privacy. He doesn't understand that word, get it?"

„Ain't got time for no privacy, boy."

„See what I mean?" Peter gestured frantically. „And do you know what he does to people who don't tell him his secrets?" The Terran leaned in closer. „He does _horrible_ things, let me tell you. Like, boy, I'm _traumatized_ over here, I got a lot of issues from that."

„That ya do. Lots of 'em."

„I mean, last time?" Peter looked at his competent. „Yondu, was it last time when you let that guy dangle out the airlock for a while?"

„Naw, 't was the time before that. Last time was the guy with the arrow."

„Oooooh, the arrow. The arrow you sent up his..." Peter made an acidic face.

„Yeah, that one."

„Oh, ouch, yeah, that was ugly."

„Took me hours to clean that arrow up again, lemme tell ya, son."

„I can so imagine that. Where were we? Oh, right. I think this fine gentleman was about to tell us something, right?"

It didn't take much longer. The poor Krylorian blurted up eventually, spilling all from the right room where the ray was located, to the password needed to type to break the security alarms. Peter actually felt good as they advanced down the corridor.

„Gotta tell ya, son", Yondu flashed him a crooked grin. „Sometimes ya really know how t' surprise me."

„Ummm... do you think it was that necessary to end his life? He did tell us what we needed nicely, couldn't you just have spared him for that?"

„Wha's that?"

„I mean we could've just let him go, or left him tied up with a cloth in his mouth."

Yondu fried him with dangerous look. „We are a crime syndicate, not boy scout specialists. 'Sides, ya wanna number of zeros on yer bounty to increase?"

 _They have boy scouts in space?_ With every year that passed, Peter was more and more surprised by what universe had to offer.

The rest was going smoothly until they emerged from the room with the ray. If Peter hadn't almost had his head blasted off, he would've deemed it funny. Like when you get out in the hall with a priceless weapon in your hands and a blissful moment of silence after your realize there's a bunch of armed guards standing there with pointed weapons and you're just trying to hold shit up your ass. The ducts poking outta walls were there to save them as they both ducked abruptly, and Quill's hair tips got fried off for how close it was.

„I can't see 'em", Yondu seethed, fidgeting around his comm that suffered heavy perturbation at some point, so they were cut off. „I could take chances with th' arrow, but those blasts might blow it up."

„I thought it was indestructible!" Peter said with a frown, the ray heavy in his hands. Of course, Yondu couldn't fall so low as to _carry_ something, so he made use out of Quill. Well, he _would've_ been useful if he had hands to reach his blasters!

Perhaps it was a blast that fired so close that'd punched him an epiphany, and for a few seconds, he could only stare.

„They're approaching", Yondu muttered after managing a look behind their shelter. „If we coulda only ̶ "

„Use this?" the teen's green eyes shone excitedly at his captain, as he lifted the ray.

But the said captain scoffed. „Kid, yer mental. We don' even know if it's useful."

„Then let's find out", and before Yondu could stop him, Quill was up, turned around on his feet, pressing a trigger. Whatever it was the Centaurian yelled next was silenced by a loud _zap!_ screaming static and a straight purple laser beam that shone over the whole room.

And that was it.

In their common confusion, the guards stopped shooting, looking at each other while Peter could only stare. „Huh?" his face was a clear, baffled dumb. But little could he do now that a bunch of men recovered with the speed of the soldiers and pointed their weapons again. Quill gulped, sure it was the end of his miserable life.

But as the triggers clicked, they didn't fire – they exploded. All their guns just backfired themselves, blowing up like automatic missiles. Peter goggled at the sight, his ear ringing from multiple blasts, but he had barely acknowledged it. Just in couple of seconds, all the guards were laying dead, caught by miniature flames here and there.

Peter was blinking dazedly, then looked at the weapon in his hands. Then at the scene. Then back down. Then up. Down. And now a stupid grin adorned his face, as he whooped. „Awesome!" he laughed. „Yondu, did you see this? Did you see what this thing just did? It's a backfire ray or something-" he was still talking when Yondu's head cautiously peeked from behind the pipes, observing the mess.

„Can we keep this?"

„Hell, no, I ain't keepin that shit on my ship any longer than I'm paid to."

Before Peter could protest, more hurried steps echoed down the hall, and Peter pulled the ray up at the ready, but relaxed as soon as he recognized the ragged leathers and familiar voices.

„'Bout time ya showed up", Yondu told Tullk. „Ya missed the party."

Tullk frowned at him, long blaster in hand. „We were takin' down the rest 'a them. Barely got inside, we did", he looked around. „Wha' happened here?"

„Tell ya when we get back", Yondu stepped out of the shelter and Peter followed. „Get everyone to abort mission. We got what we needed and we're leavin' this fuckin' dirtball."

Tullk was one of those people who didn't need to be told twice. He yelled commands to his people and over the comm at the same time, and the Ravagers scattered around in a second. Trust the Ravagers to know two things; How to steal and how to escape their life after they do.

Yondu took the ray over from Peter. „Ya did good kid", he said. „But next time, I'm carrying the cargo if it's weaponized." At Quill's frown, he formed his own. „Whatchu lookin' at me like that for? Get goin' before I blast yer ass with this." Peter did, for once deciding to keep his mouth shut, but mainly because he just realized Yondu actually complimented him for real, and that realization almost made him stop walking.

„And remind me to fetch tailor again", Yondu grumbled, reaching out and straightening Peter's coat sleeve which rebelliously just retreated upwards again. „Ye keep growin' like that and yer gonna surpass Taserface in another year."

Peter wasn't sure if he'd stopped grinning for the rest of the day.


	2. Left side of bullshit

**~~~A/N- Drunk Yondu + Drunk Peter = Many, Many Ideas To Write :D~~~**

* * *

Peter Quill has experienced pain. He's been hit, beaten multiple times and has settled down with a fact that this is something he oughtta get used to. So he did. He toughened, forced himself to stand his ground, grit his teeth and suffer the blows until convenient moment. And once it arrived, he struck back, learned how to fight and was always aware of his surroundings. Peter learned how to train your awareness so hard you'll know where the blow's coming from a mile ago.

Then he's been shot. That was a new experience. A pain, hot and cold, neither of them; pure freezing fire that flowered all over his vessels and he could feel it; sharp, aching traffic jamming through his body. He could feel every inch of himself. But he'd already toughened up from before so he supposed it wasn't that bad.

That led him to learning how to shoot. And in the beginning, that was all he was doing. The first blast didn't differ a shade from the last one and it was all a thin string stretching onward to eternity after which Peter just wanted to give up and lose himself in a random port the next time the _Eclector_ docked. But as it normally does, time went on, and Peter had been led to the breach of a remarkable discovery. The sensation of a trigger had become his breath, the click of a safety a metronome of heartbeat and an emerging blast a song. Peter realized shooting wasn't just that. It becomes a part of yourself, submitted completely under your own control. You become capable of taking lives, hold it between your fingers, and only one of them decides whether you take it or not.

Peter's nearly been suffocated. That's funny. Air is something no being can live without. We are so used to breathing that we forget to realize how precious it is to us Once we get deprived of that value – Peter kept taking in deliberately deep breaths days after that incident as if hoping to restore lost air until Yondu had whacked him upside the head saying that if he was going to play off some monk, he might as well go join them.

But Peter dreamed of it. He felt strong, cold hands close around his throat, his glottis become dysfunctional in his efforts to scream and airway clogging completely. His vision got filled with cruel black spots, brain threatened to burst under pressure. Everything from his head to lungs hurt as hell and all he could do was claw futile effort at muscular fingers that squeezed without mercy. Then a punch, a yell, then a whistle and it was over. Peter was sure he was dead. But then he woke up to a familiar blue grumpy face, (an odd leftover feeling that something was raking pleasantly through his hair over the night which he crisply dismissed) and realized he wasn't that lucky.

Yes, Peter Jason Quill knew pain.

Which is why he always appreciated being drunk.

Pain isn't easy to forget, whether it is physical or emotional. It leaves a trail, cuts in deep, reminds that it's been here. However, being drunk just makes your forget those same cuts ever existed. Eases the pain, fuzzing the thoughts, relaxing the body. It's like you're being tired but way, way better. And Peter loved being drunk, those few times he got to it in the first place.

Which was currently his position right now. Propped on a bar stool, sprawled across the counter of some backwater behind bar that held a minority of visitors judging by its size. The bartender is nice. She keeps refilling his glass with strong oily liquid he totally forgot the name of whenever he beckons her to do it. What unsettled him at start was the fact that she was A'askavarian (another past experience Peter had listed in his Book of Pain), but after one or two drinks – or maybe eight – all stereotypical bullshit was quickly left behind and the bartender's tentacles didn't seem half as threatening.

For once, Peter had peace. Slow music, of a different kind for a change, in the background, softly caressing his eardrums along with a low murmur of guests around the place. Swirling bedlam surrounding him for years was composed of constant noise, commands, blasting, yells, contumelies and bickering. Ah, _Eclector_. Home sweet home...

'Home loud home' would be a more correct term, but for now Peter settled with feeling satisfied and not giving a fuck. The crew was finally given a break after all bounty hunting, so Contraxia was their next stop. Last time he was here, Peter discovered this place, far behind on the other side of the city purely by accident while hightailing away from some dudes. He had no time checking it further because, lookie here, Yondu had found him, told him to stop messing around, and that he was in big time. Well, hopefully, the others remain on their side of town drinking shit and hooking up with droid gals. All Peter wanted was quiet. So far so good.

„There ya are."

Peter groaned. He shouldn't have blitzed that thought. „You got me microchipped or something?"

„'s captain's job to know where his damn crew is", Yondu said leaning against the counter to his left and tossing a word to a bartender which Peter didn't pick up.

„Leave me alone", Peter grumbled, not moving an inch. „Can't I at least have privacy when I'm able to?"

„Thought we established it, kid, I don't do privacy", the Centaurian muttered, fixing his gaze against a completely wasted Terran, and by a barely audible slur in his voice that he just barely picked up, he supposed Yondu wasn't all sober, either. „An' besides, ya think I'm stupid? I know trouble follows ya like a shadow and believe me, I don't wanna be in no opposite corner of the planet when it finds ya."

Quill sighed like he ran a spiral marathon over the galaxy and Yondu observed him further. He had to made sure the kid was clad in a proper coat before they landed. This be a dying orbit the planet rounds, outside was devastating cold, and it would only get worse with every passing year. Terrans are pussies. Their technology is shit and knowledge even a bigger pile; must be because their planet is a backside of the galaxy, resting on its edge in some mashup Peter said Terrans named Solar System. They can't stand when it's cold, they can't stand when it's hot, they can't stand no space food (Yondu still had traumas from times he had to have Peter convinced to get used to it). Various gases bother them as well, so after Quill turned fifteen, Yondu reached a very simple conclusion – boy needs nasal protection. So he got him a mask, an object responsible for more successful heists than Yondu would like to admit, and it was probably the only thing Yondu never regretted giving to the kid. The said button containing it was there as always, and was leaning awkwardly to the side due to Peter's sprawled over position.

„Why aren't you getting laid with the others?" Quill asked out of sheer curiosity, attempts to swat away a hand that came behind his ear to fix the button providing futile since he had little control of his tired limbs.

„Don't talk to me 'bout getting laid", having brought the device to place and pressed it firmly against Peter's ear until it clicked, he retreated his hand. „I got laid more times than your age is converted to days."

Peter frowned. „Those are rookie numbers."

„How d' ya find this place anyway?"

„First I was trying to find peace and quiet", Peter was hoping his voice indicated he needed some time alone, but Yondu either failed to hear it, or exceedingly ignored it.

„Peace and ̶ Quill, yer twenty five, arentcha supposed to be all over clubs and gals, fappin' yer shit off daily and nightly and other bullcrap kids yer age do?"

„Not a kid", Peter mumbled, finally raising his head and frowning as it spun around like a whacked beehive. „Wait. If it is to go by what you just said, then isn't the _Eclector_ full of kids?" Having completed the thought, Peter got thrown into a fit of giggles as cold, blue fingers closed around his scruff and made his shoulders lurch forward.

„Smartass", Yondu remarked, but Peter could hear a grin in his voice. „Taught ya well, I suppose." He brought a tall glass of something dark green to his lips that Peter didn't see arrive.

„No, I was jus' thinking", Peter looked at his captain this time, clumsily turning his body on the stool. He observed the room, as if there could be anyone interested in this ridiculous conversation, leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. „If we could make another crew."

Yondu said nothing at this, but did raise an eyebrow at that, and Peter took it as an encouragement to continue. „Seriously, think about it, old man. We don't need those guys. They're a bunch of good-for-nothing a-holes who are only after units, nothing else. If anyone else'd ask them they'd tell you the same: Field work down, but units on table. Hell, I even heard..." Quill, again, had a need to look left and right to convince himself they weren't being spied on. „I even heard there was some conspiracy goin' on regarding your leadership, captain. There were words about how you're hiding things from them, big things, _unit-big_ things. Some crew members don't think this is all they can get, and that, truly, they could get on higher position than clan 99, but for some reason, you keep it locked away in your quarters. In other words... mutiny."

Yondu's expression remained neutral. „Look, I'm telling you this because I", Peter hastily continued, but then paused, a brain obstacle obscuring his speech and he frowns deeply and clumsily shakes his head. „No, not 'like', is not a word I'm looking for... _regard_ , yes", he grinned. „That's the one. I'm telling you this because I have a regard for you. We could just disappear. Or, y' know, get rid of their asses, since that's what you like the most, right? Ass-ridding getting off?", he slurred, words rolling over each other a bit. „Or we could just space them, you like that too, but my point is", Peter swayed forward in his seat, catching the counter edge in last minute. „We should totally make our own crew. Just- just you and me." Pause. „And Kraglin, if he wants. What do you say, old man?" He attempted a wink, but it only came out as a slow both-eyed blink.

Yondu stared at him for a while, expression completely blank. Frown wasn't pulling at his lips as it normally was, but Peter suspected it was a good sign. Must've had to do with an empty glass Yondu's fingers were wrapped around. Silence dragged on for so long that Peter eventually leaned back and went to turn forward again, asking the A'askavarian for another drink, or maybe even try and ask her out. Nothing hurts in trying again, right?

But Yondu was quicker than his slow, drunk brain. „Boy, if ya were anyone else but yerself, I woulda shoot this arrow through ya for plannin' a mutiny before ya could even think about it."

Peter took a moment to process what Yondu said, but right after he did, he frowned. „Rude."

„Quill, how many times do I haveta tell ya?" Peter met his eyes; two crimson vortexes that told him mockery and amusement, but something deeper and unsettling, as well. „Yer full of shit."

Quill wanted to protest, but Yondu had beat him to it and suddenly sounded completely sober. „Quill, I know ya don't like those guys and fer a good reason. Hell, I don't like whole lot of 'em either, and whacha said 'bout them is probably all true. But we're a clan: We work together, got one anotha's back, cooperate in order to survive. Unity formed all of us hundred motherfuckin' clans and still is the only thing that keeps us combined. If y'ain't got no crew, ya got nothing and yer as good as dead.

We're Ravagers, Quill. We're part of a system, whether ya like it or not." Yondu picked at his golden teeth, momentarily dedicating them attention. „'Sides, if we _did_ by some darn miracle do as ya said, we woulda had Stakar at our back before the _Eclector_ hit the first jump."

Peter, who at some point leaned a closed fist against his chin, elbowing the counter, blinked a few times and waved off his head. „Damn, if you gave a speech like that when you're sober, I might respect you more."

Yondu mumbled something incomprehensible through toothy grin, reached over and nipped at Peter's hip, knowing how much he hated it in childhood days. The effect was immediate; Quill gave an undignified high-pitched squeal at this and jerked away, swatting at Centaurain's underarm to try and keep it at bay, but it has already retreated. Peter only managed to call him an asshole, when there was a loud bellow behind him. „Hey!"

The noise disoriented Peter so he had to shake his head. He didn't expect to be met with an ugly reptile snout when he came around. From his early days, Peter knew aliens had no sense of personal space, but no matter how many times he kept revising to get used to it, it was never a pleasant thing. Especially if they reeked like that.

„Sup, buddy, what d'ya want?"

„I believe you're sitting on my seat."

„Hold up", Peter proceeds to clumsily lean down and peek under his stool while Yondu ordered another round, not even blinking at the newcomers.

Peter straightened back up. „I don't see your name on it."

The reptile growled as more of his kind showed up behind his back. „You clearly pull roots from the other side of the town, you scrotum pustule. Everyone in this dump knows that I own the place and the moment I walk in, I better see that seat empty ̶ "

The rambling and threats became a faint noise at the back as Peter took a swig of his drink. „Eugh. This tastes horrible."

„Told ya. Don't cha drink somethin' that makes ya puke."

„I'm not the one ordering drinks, old man."

„Bullshit, ya started orderin' first. Who was drunk when I first got here, me or you?"

„Killjoy", Peter mutters.

„Gimme that drink."

Peter does, and it doesn't flow down Yondu's throat, but right into the lizard's face. Shut his mouth, though.

„Aw, hell. Shame for the booze", Yondu looks pitifully in an empty cup.

„You owe me a drink. Matter of fact", Peter tells him over a furious roar that happened somewhere very near. „If you do the following brawl without a single whistle, I'll call us even."

„Deal", Yondu says with no hesitation, clasps Peter's open palm and shakes it, tilts over the rest of his drink down his throat, pulls out the arrow and stabs it deep in the wooden counter. (The bartender's disappeared. That's a shame, Peter hadn't managed to ask her out.)

Then he turned around and swung a left hook across the lizard's raging face, knocking him over. Peter laughs, grinning like a maniac and engages with his captain when the struggle starts and by then, the half empty bar completely emptied.

Looks like those lizards are as dumb as they look. Peter breathes with his fists as he delivers blow after blow. Taking a few sobered him up. _When ya fight, use yer environment as much as ya can_ , Yondu had always said. Strategies surged through his brain like a rocket as he dodged and twisted and hit from the back. Then, as his adversary recovered from the punch, Peter dragged over a chair with his foot and used the opponent's wide swing to pick it up and smash against his face. The chair broke in half, but it was efficient as the alien staggered backwards, heavily stricken. Peter's expression changed rapidly from a grin to a surprised frown as he felt a tug at his collar from behind, facing around an agitated copy of his previous assailant. Peter knew he couldn't dodge, and that there was no chance he could counterattack a huge fist that was currently swinging to disjoint a head from his shoulders.

Something came to obscure his vision, though, as there was a flash of blue and white and suddenly there was a tablecloth replacing the lizard's head, with Yondu pulling at the ends from behind. „Now, Quill!" Peter needed no second invitation. His fist was already where it was supposed to be. Producing a sound suspiciously similar to a whine, the alien stumbled, then suffered a two-legged blow from behind when Yondu and Peter both hit him to trip the approaching party of three more lizards. Both collided and Peter and Yondu preformed a front roll away from the scrambling group.

„Get them!" Peter recognized that gruff voice from before. It was a chair-guy, standing at the back, bleeding something green out of his nose, and squinting on one eye. That's when Peter realized something.

„These guys don't have guns."

„Ya mean ya haven't noticed?"

Peter looks at him. „W-was I supposed to?"

Yondu most likely wouldn't have answered, but he still wouldn't make it as four reptiles took another offense. The two Ravagers welcomed.

A slow motion would be nice, Peter thought at that moment. The two of them caught in the middle of the room kicking but and.. Yondu just doing a vertical somersault over his head, kicking two heads along the way with his feet. By the way his coat flowed after him, Peter was willing to go that far as to call him majestic. The young Terran slid, dodged, twisted and punched and kicked, and just... _Just like dancing_ , he thought.

The laugh Peter released then was almost hysterical. But beside him, Yondu was doing some mean shit. He twisted limbs and kicked joints with eerie elegance and ease, but also with such ferocity that screams of pain that followed them rid Peter off full concentration. It left consequences, though. The next air flow that disturbed him from the side met him with a fist front in the face. And his brain, molested by alcohol and energy waste and multiple punches taken, just shut down.

* * *

When he next came around, Peter took a deep sharp breath through his nose ̶ and regretted ever even living. He groaned, eyes squeezing back shut as he rubbed at his head that threatened to burst. Peter touched his nose to check. Yup. Broken as shit. His fingers felt around a different texture wrapped around it – a bandage. He was really in for it this time.

Peter forced himself to reopen his eyes, trying to ignore lighting pain that surged through his head. He synchronized his breaths to be even as he looked around. A room. Dark room, decorated with pipes, weird-ass furniture and scattered clothes that rested in piles in the corners. Ah, yes. Home sweet home.

Peter rested his head back on his pillow, ready to head back to sleep again, but once again, the universe wouldn't leave him alone. And that universe currently slid open the door, turned on the lights and started banging with something against the iron wall. „Good morning~" Yondu's sweet (loud!) voice did _not_ coincide with his actions and Peter helplessly whined, pulled the pillow from behind him and stuffed it in his face. „It would be if you could just leave, please?" his voice came muffled by the pillow.

„None can do, boy. Ya got us in over our heads, again", he could hear heavy boots make way into his room, as well as silent zips and swishes that probably meant Yondu was holding a holopad.

„What'd I do now?"

„The chair lover back there was Kirag. Leader of one of three "Scythe" squads, an organization of highly paid assassins that originated from Morag. When their planet came down, so did their carriers, so they turned into what every assassins do when they've been sacked. The mercenaries", Peter was up sitting on the edge of his bed now, taking the holopad from Yondu who sat to his right, frowning at the screen. „Damn luck was on our side. These are elites, top head-hunters in the whole galaxy. They set chu up pretty good", a blue finger tapped at the bottom right corner next to Peter's ID. „Look at all those zeros."

Peter had to whistle, then looked at the captain. „Aren't they dead?"

„When you abruptly fell asleep back there, thinking yer bein' all funny, I had to pick yer sorry ass up before those guys recovered. Ya can think how long it took me to collect all the crew. Half of them were drunk, half unconscious, and half still had their dicks up the droids; I couldn't properly wet my lips, boy."

The Terran felt a sharp pang in his chest for an inexplicable reason, but it was quickly overridden by a sharper one up in his head. He returned the pad to Yondu and dug his fingers into his squeezed eyes, as if he'd claw the pain out through them.

Next to him, Yondu wheezed out a hoarse laugh and slapped a heavy hand against Quill's back, and shook him a little. Peter groaned. That _wasn't_ helpful. „Mah boy just reached a second highest bounty on this ship. If I wasn't a real sonuvabitch I think I'd be damn proud."

„Who's the first one?"

„Who d' ya think?" another pat and then Yondu got up. Peter lowered his hands, content with just staring into a wall whole day. Something must've heard him because lights went back off. „Now get some sleep", Yondu's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, almost soft, but that was something out of range of Peter's belief. „Ya suffered a nasty concussion when ya hit the floor back there, and the hangover prob'bly ain't redoundin' it. I need ya back on yer feet for work tomorrow. No place for lazy asses on this ship."

Yondu was about to step out, but Peter summoned final bits of his energy. „Wait", he wanted it to be firm and loud, but it turned out to be a breath, a faint audible glimmer in the dark. Nevertheless, Yondu picked it up and turned around. Peter looked up at him. The hallway light delineated his person, turning him into a black silhouette. Only his eyes gleamed faintly in the darkness; a drop of red in the black sea.

Yondu observed the boy- young man. He sat there, looking completely devastated by yesterday's events. His curly fire-red hair stuck up in all directions practically taunted Yondu to stride back in and ruffle the hell out of it. But he resisted, keeping his ground because of one small detail: The gleam in the boy's eyes wasn't his usual mischievous, sassy one that meant trouble. This one had a gleam of something important, and Yondu knew the boy long enough to realize it wasn't unimportant.

„Back there in the bar", Peter's voice was still low, straining to form a sound. „Those moves... that technique... You never trained that way with me." Green eyes that hooked on his were like a meteor impact on a fragile planet. „Where did you get that?"

Words couldn't form on Yondu's tongue for a long time, but they instantly formed in his head. All from telling him to mind his damn business over threatening him to sleep with an arrow to telling him the blunt truth. The scars along his face itched to be scratched at, but this Centaurian had an iron will and steel nerves.

So he just said, „Boy..."

„Yeah?"

„There are some things I don't never mean to tell ya." He finished, before sliding the door shut.

* * *

 **~~~Is nobody gonna talk about how I give chapters random-ass titles that make no sense whatsoever?~~~**


	3. Eyes of a crime, prisoners of time

**~~~A/N: - Updated for editing some mistakes, sorry~~~**

. .

.

* * *

„We got brains", clicking the behind-ear button. „Skills", cocking of the blaster gun, then a grin. „And an undoubtful amount of charm." Wink.

„Ya got lice is whatcha got, Quill. All up ya lame fuzzy beard."

„Aw, c'mon, old man. Krag and I got this!" Peter headlocked the lanky Xandarian whose facial expression radiated he'd rather be anywhere else but in current position. „We're the brotherhood", the Terran paused, letting eyes roaming left and right. „Which is actually just the two of us, but... Come on, Yondu, he's your first mate! Don't you trust him?"

„First off, I trust _him_ ", Yondu approved, and Peter's face lighted up. „But I don't trust 'im with _you_." Peter's face fell. „And _B)_ , yer dumb, Quill. The air on this mudball contains element yers and Kraglins' system can't stand. You and yer undeveloped pussy organisms."

„I got a helmet."

This is exactly how this conversation went before all went to hell. Although Peter would disagree, since he kicked ass in the meantime. _And_ survived, which was a celebration having situation since he'd almost died on the field. Not because he lacked skills, no — he had more movement in little finger than an A'askavarian in all tentacles — but because, just as Yondu had politely pointed out, the air did contain gas. Matter of fact, as they docked for a swift rapine, Quill at first confused the view out of observation windows with dirty glass, but the suffocating fact is that the shade of mulberry red covering the landscape like an annoying screen glitch _was_ , in fact, gas. Flemyada-dadafucktagen, Peter couldn't care less what it was called.

But his earlier averment stood; he did have a helmet, and it was tested, contrary to anybody's will. Honestly, credit for that went to Taserface after he volunteered (by himself only) to space Quill when he hit sixteen — on his _motherfucking_ birthday; obliged to do so only to ease his bad mood. It was freezing outside, (Peter had called on duty after a short visit to med bay to do jobs in shit-crazy hot engine room for _days_ after that), and cold crept over immediately. Come to think of it, he should've died by the time Kraglin had discovered him hanging onto the precious metal, despite the helmet he barely had power left to click in place. Frostbite should've eaten him alive, and dead too. Quill refused to braindamage further, prescribing it simply to his being a badass Peter Quill. He did see Taserface five days after that incident and the big guy hadn't batted an eyelash at him. However, Peter had noticed a prominent limp in his right leg as well as a neat small hole gaping on the sleeve of his trousers. On both sides.

Quill again refused to braindamage.

This mission was solo, even though it wasn't exactly a mission. The pirate squad was short with units and empty sacks aren't of particular use on the black market. So they decided to stop by unannounced, talk some business, rock some boats, rid someone of their heads...

That soon changed when they were ambushed and didn't even manage to point their blasters properly when they found themselves behind the doors of steel confinement cells.

In all thirty one years of life he's been alive and around the galaxy, Quill was sure he'd never seen this kind of aliens. They had weird faces that crossed between skulls and nuclear masks, and he was pretty positive they weren't removable. And of all things they could've been, they had to be _police_. Not police, _per say_ , more like the guard officials with duty towards authorities. Of all places they could've landed on this damn planet, it had to be _prison_. Peter yelled at Yondu for not paying attention to that particular fact before they landed all the way to their cells, even as one guy knocked him at the back of his mask more than once to shut him up, and failing all the same. For some reason, they didn't make him take the mask off, which totally saved his life. Maybe they thought the mask was a part of his face, too.

And just as it was currently saving his life from suffocating, it would backfire in... what, several hours? There was only so much oxygen it contained before Peter started suffocating on his own carbon dioxide. So he'll either stay in and die, or click it off and die again. It made him so desperate that - laying like that on the cell floor, the only source of light coming from rectangular dimmed dark blue light from the wall opposite the door - he started singing. He wasn't even sure what it was about; it was improvised, it was loud and it was totally depressing.

Needless to say, it became tiring extremely quickly. There was a violent banging on the metal wall to his left. „Quit it, runt, you'll get me killed before they do", came Taserface's rough voice.

Peter perked up. „I will?" A moment of silence and then singing had become about three times louder, vibrating like a real opera singer's with a spike of absolutely purposeful false notes and words saying something colorful about Taserface's farts. Multiple groans filled their prison and one "Are you happy, now?" directed at the massive Ravager.

„ _Kraglin, where are you?_ " Peter kept freestyling long after silence had fallen over again. „ _Be my prince on a white horse. Would you come and get me only, I will leave them all here with no remorse._ "

„Very funny, Quill", murmured a familiar southern accent to his right. „Let's see if ya still be laughin' when you realize the more ya speak, the less time in that helmet ya have left."

The muffled Quill song stopped abruptly, like Peter had died then and there, and few of the crew members pointed it out with utter satisfaction.

„Oh, I ain't dead yet, you numbnuts", struggles echoed from Peter's cell, like he clumsily stood up from cold floor. „I'm busting myself outta here, and you can all bury yourselves six feet under."

„What the hell does that mean?" mumbled someone, but wasn't answered back, as the sound of metal against metal started hitting rhythmically from the direction of Quill's confinement.

Eyeroll could be heard in Yondu's voice. „If yer tryin' to beat down the door with yer head, Quill, I'd appreciate if ye'd stop; ya'll crack open yer skull and all precious air 'll be gone."

A mocking laughter all over the place made Quill growl. „Oh, you go laugh alright. Where' s your arrow, cuntfuck?"

„Confiscated with everything else."

„Why can't you call it back? Can't it go through all matter existing? Or was it another lie you told me to mouth off?"

„If ya stopped singing back there ya wouldda probably heard me tryin' to reach it. It's out of range."

„Out of _range_?"

„Yeah, outta my fin's range, need a picture drawn, Quill?"

„Bizarre", Peter decided, nodding. „Yondu Udonta. Finally caught arrowless and able to do fuck about it. Ladies and gentlemen."

„Boy..." There it was. A single word with way too much extra vowels, shaped as a threat, but after decades coming blank as an engine noise to Quill's ears.

„Yeah, I know", he sprawled himself back on the floor, which was awkward in itself due to the helmet. „You'll eat me if I don't shut up."

„And he's not gonna be the only one to do it", growled Taserface.

Peter had lost the concept, but there's been some long ass time before loud snoring surrounded Quill's eardrums. The Terran didn't know how the others harmonized like they knew night has fallen, but then again when they're not running around murdering people, drinking themselves stupid and stealing money, they're always sleeping. There was no way for Peter to fall asleep, though. His breaths became shallow and hectic, and he was suddenly dizzy, and unfocused. The sound of snores twisted; it was like a sound traveled from one ear to another, and no fierce head shaking helped. Peter was sure this was the beginning of his end, but whatever he did, under no circumstances should he panic.

Well, easier said than done.

„Can't sleep?" came Yondu's voice from his right. Ah. At least he wasn't going to die alone. That was comforting. And was it... concern he was hearing? His brain must be dangerously messing with him.

„It's a bit stuffy in here", he admitted, swallowing thickly. The stench of his own breath burned his lungs that screamed for oxygen, and Peter knew he was on breach of collapse. And if he fainted now, he was as good as dead.

„Quill? Y' a'ight?" Yondu's voice was closer now, like he spoke directly through a wall, and Peter instinctively crawled over towards it, leaning on the opposite side. He grumbled in response, feeling nauseous.

„Listen to me, kid", Yondu's voice was comfortingly calm, and all of a sudden, Peter truly felt like a little kid, ready to cry in despair. „Reach up behind yer head."

Peter frowned. What kind of a ridiculous request was that? „Wha'?" he managed, through harsh breaths.

„Do as I said. Can ya do it?"

The Terran's brain stormed for a couple of moments, trying to reach motor nerves and preform the action, and it had taken him more than it should have to do as he was told. Nothing was happening, but just as he was about to give up, Yondu's calm voice reached him again.

„Fell around it under the center", he said. „Just a tad bit t' the right. Feel that tiny bulge?"

Peter started sliding down the metal wall, seeing black spots obscuring his red vision. In complete lack of control, Peter released a desperate half-grunt half-breath, wordlessly begging for help. He could hear Yondu yelling something, but couldn't comprehend what. He felt around as told with shaky fingers, but no bulge was coming under his touch. Peter could feel power abandoning him, just as blackness was being replaced by faint white light. Yondu's hoarse voice kept reaching his ears as the light kept spreading, and all Peter wanted was to give in, to stop the torture.

And then on the verge of complete lack of strength, his ring finger had found it. But that was it. His head was already falling down unconscious. His red sight was gone, hearing as well, and the stench of his own self lingered like a disgusting reminder of his rotten life.

The impact caused his hand to collide with the floor and his finger to push the bulge. Which clicked.

The button released a hissing noise in helmet that shot Peter's eardrums – and blessed him with a high dose of pure, precious oxygen.

Peter wheezed loudly like an animal, hungrily feasting on air, feeling like he'd jumped to Heaven, and then coughing when it became too much. His sight had returned clear, and so did common sense, so Quill forced himself to stop the coughs to save some air. As much as he wanted to suck it all, Peter knew he had to keep his breaths shallow, so that's what he dedicated the next half a minute to.

To his right, Yondu released a huff of relieved laugh. „Good boy."

Three breaths pause, and then he felt conscious enough to ask. „The button... How... how did you know it was there?"

„Cause I built it in."

Peter frowned, pushing himself up on one elbow. „And you didn't tell me?"

„It's a one-off", Yondu snapped, back to his old self. „It was meant for near-death situation, I knew ya'd press it as soon as I told ya just for the fun of it."

„So what, you expect a thanks?"

„Course not", a grin could be heard in the elder's voice. „Yer a Ravager. Ravagers don't do thanks."

„Well, I'm honored", Peter said instead, shifting so he was against the wall opposite Yondu again. „How long?"

There was a pause, significant for Yondu thinking his fin off, and Quill could practically _hear_ him think. Not thinking, but thinking whether to lie or tell the truth.

„Yondu."

„Fifteen mins? Half an hour, at the most?"

Well, that's half an hour more chance to get outta here, Peter thought, leaning back to make an escape plan, trying to suppress a fact that he nearly died mere seconds ago. He frowned, though. Why would Yondu do that? When did he fiddle with his helmet, anyway? Ever since he got it when he was fifteen, it didn't leave his ear. Peter was pretty sure if it was any other crew member (except Kraglin maybe) Yondu would've just let him suffocate. _'Weak are left behind_ ', was a Ravager rule. And Peter had heard it directly from Yondu's mouth. So what made him an exception?

His brainstorming was, again, interrupted.

„I didn't lie back there, Quill."

Peter lifted his gaze, obscured by the red haze of the helmet eyes, pinning it against the parallel wall. There was nothing sardonic about the way Yondu said it, so the young Ravager mutely offered him to continue.

„The arrow does go through everything", the Centaurian's rough voice continued. There was monotony in his voice that would often calm Peter in the past, and he recalled it with eagerness, not having any attention to interrupt his captain. Instead, he leaned against the wall sideways, gathering his legs close and listening carefully.

„It's made of a Yaka, a special sound-sensitive mineral which when crafted into metal is moved by whistlin'. 'T was a factor because it's a major, an' frankly the only way of communication Centaurians use alongside the clicks. It originates from my home planet, the _Centauri IV_. Huh, ya shoulda seen it, Quill. We were a mighty people once... who sunk low after damn Kree invaded our home", there was a mix of furious and nostalgic note in Yondu's voice, which made Peter's chest squeeze. „The core of invasion was metal. The Yaka. Ya'd think they took it all, stole it, confiscated for their own use. But reality was much more confusin', boy, and much, much worse; they destroyed all metal, and destroyed the whole planet, leavin' only with a minority of us, that would eventually become slaves." There was a deep sigh from the other side. „We were once many."

Peter laid an open palm against a wall, on a place where he presumed Yondu's shoulder was. Since he first came among them, Quill wondered what his story was. Where all those scars came from, including the largest one, snaking down the middle of his back. Yondu both fascinated and scared the shit out of him, but now he thought he understands better. „And now?" he asked, his voice small.

There was a moment of silence where Peter thought he won't get an answer, because that was who Yondu was. He answers when he wants to.

„Now there's only one."

New questions were ready to spill off Peter's tongue, but were interrupted by a loud metal bang from outside that jerked him from this hypnotic state and teleported him back to reality. More such sounds followed during which Peter thought he heard Yondu say quietly „Stand by the door and be ready", before heavy footsteps echoed from the other side.

Peter's reflexes stiffened anew and he was on his feet once again. The noise had apparently startled awake the others because there was a chorus of grunts, protests and curses thrown at the door, but only one of them was loud enough to not be ignored. „Oi, ya fuckmented shitjizzle" — Peter was enthusiastically impressed. He'd have to remember that one. „Piss break, boss."

Wait... What.

Wait, _what_?

Is he crazy? Because he can't be serious. Nobody's gonna fall for that anymore. After this recent enlightenment, Peter could hardly believe one Ravager captain could be that dumb—

There was a thin sound coming from Yondu's cell; like something tiny hit the metal. Then three beeps that made Peter tense up like a sling. (In the meantime he realized how silent the whole compartment had fallen — the others must've waken up, listening in just as tense as him.)

As soon as the last beep echoed, followed by scrappy metal sounds, there was a hit, a clang, some struggles and ear-damaging sounds of a blaster. If Peter wasn't hyperactive, he'd probably wait with his chin propped on his fist and bored look on his face. Like this, he was almost jumping up and down; his body was ready to spring into action. He knew Yondu could hold his own, but the regard he had for other people was somewhere around zero.

A muffled scream met Peter's ears, and one blast later, something heavy toppled down to the floor. In between new auditory information, Peter recognized faint sound of approaching footsteps and alerting voices in the distance as well as someone spitting something on the floor.

Then a ting was at his door, followed by beeping.

„Quill, ready your ass!" Yondu yelled from the other side.

„It's not like I can do anything else", he shot back, but then the scraping metal sounds he'd heard from before offered a sight of the heavy cell door open from the middle in several layers, shaping a hexagon opening. Peter didn't hesitate a second to preform a twisted jump through, meeting with a blaster flying towards him. He caught it with no hesitation and spun towards the approaching noises, briskly covering the situation.

They were situated in a semi-circular complex of cells where the metal doors were equally separated from each other, and now the other Ravagers were banging at them, demanding to be let out. Yondu ignored them, crouched down over a dead guard, digging around his pockets; a dark brown liquid oozed from behind the mask around the guy's neck. Some gross gooey thing was laying a few feet away. Peter didn't need knowledge about those species to know.

„Did you just tear his _larynx_ out?"

„I bit it off."

„Jesu— why didn't you just shoot the door open?" Peter rapidly changed the subject, looking at the main door rather than the scene.

„It's impenetrable doors, idjit. They can only be opened with this", Yondu straightened, displaying a dozen or so of tiny, tiny disks with a big red dot in the middle. „Which is why I wasn't able to whistle my arrow here."

The sounds of approaching guards were became louder and before Peter could even blink, the main door blew open, and a horde of officers busted inside, gathering in a two-rowed formation. „ _Yondu Udonta. Surrender now or we'll open fire._ "

There was a moment of utter silence where even the crew fell silent from beneath other cells. A damn fly could fly around and be heard absolutely clearly.

Then Yondu and Peter exchanged an eyebrow-rising confused-grimace expression that Yondu knew Peter shared even behind the helmet because they shared this look for over a thousand times.

„Are you hearing this?"

„The hell they thinkin' we are?"

„I have no idea, in fact — I don't think others shared their painful knowledge about us."

„Ain't teachin' them other planets right no more, they ain't."

„You are so right, it's a shame."

„We gonna show 'em what they dealin' with?"

„You bet."

And the next procedure was almost flawless. There was a practicality to the blaster that Quill prefered, and no design felt strange in his hands, so when he took down the whole front double row, he could help but release a triumphant 'hell yeah' under his breath. In the meantime, Yondu had swung the tiny discs in a wide wave; like he was elegantly sowing the seed. Small things flew in smooth arcs, magnetizing against the gate, while Yondu released the most beautiful, at-long-last-released whistle Peter had ever heard.

Peter wasn't compulsive, but he was opportunistic. So when the rows of guards cleaned up a bit, he sprung to physical action; the Terran jumped into a vertical somersault he'd nagged Yondu to teach him, kicking two guys at the same time, but through the completely red vision, failed to see a movement behind him, realizing too late it was another two guards, weapons pointed at him. Just as Peter breathed, though, something golden and red flashed through their heads, dashing past him as they fell to the ground. Peter turned around, disapprovingly frowning at smug looking Yondu gripping the arrow.

„That's not fair, those were mine."

„We had this conversation before", Yondu replied, and released the arrow again. „I always win the counts."

A group yell echoed from behind him as other Ravagers surged to pick up weapons and blast their way through, and Peter gladly joined them with one loud _'Fuck the police!_ ' he didn't know where came from. The whistles started sifting others, and Quill started to wonder if this race was slow on reflexes, or simply stupid, as he tried to beat the arrow's swiftness.

The only thing missing now was music, which was currently back on _the Eclector_ , but Peter had his own back and sang loudly, falsing on purpose, and putting ridiculous accents whenever he shot a guard. Just how did they even managed to get captured was beyond Peter. Retch had found their confiscated weapons, and with a bit of struggles, in which Peter didn't participate, they stormed towards the exit. Quill would probably be suspicious at how easy this is if he gave a damn.

However, skipping past a devastated room, Peter came to a halt.

Something remarkably interesting, remarkably eye-catching and remarkably _shiny_ was standing lonely on a tall shelf. Anyone else would consider it too thin to hold anything of substantial importance, but not Peter. Oh, he had enough thieving years behind him to recognize the value when he sees it.

It was a plate, rectangular, about a foot long, as thin as a blade. It looked like glass, but when Peter took a hold of it, it gleamed when moved around in colors Peter didn't even know existed. Peter didn't know what he was holding, not even what it was used for, but a thieving instinct whispered it held a value beyond measure. He released a shuddering breath, and only a familiar prickly feeling of pressure in his lungs unhypnotized him and reminded him he didn't have much time left.

So he shoved it inside the coat and turned around.

And taken a harder blow in the face than all Yondu's training blows together. Peter dropped the blaster, staggered backwards, losing control over himself for a moment and stumbled hard into the metal shelf. He had barely time to lock eyes against a huge force that surged forward at him to dodge low so the fist collided with the shelf. Quill recoiled so his back were to the door, as the guard turned back around. This dude was huge, unlike all the others, and Peter held out protective hands when the Goliath stepped towards him.

„Woah, woah, woah, slow down, Vader. I'm just, heh—I'm just passing by."

„Back to your cell, prisoner." The voice that emerged from behind the skull-mask was like rocks rumbling down the hill in avalanche of dust and gravel, and Peter thought he peed a little.

„Jeez, uh, okay. You know what, that's cool and all, and I'd _love_ to do it, but I've only got couple of more minutes and then it's gonna be all the same if I'm in the cell or not."

„Give back what you stole and retreat back to the chamber."

„Let me repeat myself, _I'm gonna die_ , so why don't you just let me go and save some time, alright?"

„Not before you say everything you know", and the giant swung another fist, which Peter barely dodged. It already became difficult to breathe, so his balance was off. He shook his head to stabilize, which proved fatal when the crucial second of halt offered the assailant to lock his neck in a death grip and squeeze fiercely. Peter's eyes came wide and round behind red helmet glass as his feet left the ground, and he clawed at the mighty first to no avail. Well, Quill mused as his sight started to get funny, there were worse ways to die than being choked to death. Like being choked to death while having sex with a hot Vanir. He'd probably sooner die of embarrassment than choking.

If he thought that was bad, Peter didn't know what would hit him next. The alien tank reached out over Terran head, gripping the back of his helmet — and ripped it straight off.

Peter hitched back a breath, mouth forming a flabbergasted 'O' as the low-pressured air pressed him like someone wrapped a fist around his head and started squeezing with all strength it had. At the same time he felt like millions tiny needles got stuck deep into his skin and were now trying to get out with full force. His ears gave in to a horrendous ringing, so he failed to hear a high-pitched whistle that made the grip on his neck vanish completely.

Peter tumbled on the floor and felt like when he pulled that stunt when he was ten, doubling the ship's gravity. He'd never forget that feeling as long as he lived — he just dropped on the floor like a pear. At first Quill thought he'd gotten bigger all of a sudden and that he'd seriously fucked it up this time, seeing as he felt like he'd collected another seven hundred pounds in a second, but then he saw the _Walkman_ laying next to his head and looking up offered a realization just how far the control console had been. No matter how hard he tried, Peter just couldn't move a muscle. Everything was pulling him down to the floor. Even his headphones felt like there was a rock pressing at his neck. It seemed like hours when he finally crawled up there to spin the gravity button back to normal, and almost wished he hadn't done that when Yondu marched in and almost pulled his ear out of its rightful place while all hell was unleashed from his mouth.

The memory was here and gone in a second and Peter was now pressing his palms on the sides of his head, not even able to scream. His lungs didn't correspond, head felt like it would pop and his brain would drip straight through ears and nose. Then something was moving him, gripping him firmly, lifting off the hard floor and pressing something cold against his face, but Peter failed to acknowledge what it was when both reason and consciousness abandoned him completely.

* * *

It was a sound first. It was the sound that made him aware of existing, but that didn't have him convinced that he wasn't dead. Soft tapping was reaching from somewhere on the right. It was soothing, and very comfortable, and Peter felt relaxed, comprehending more information.

He felt he was laying on something solid, but not rough. A scent of bitter anesthetic hung about, the one which Peter recognized and flutter opened his eyes, meeting with a lovely view of the quietest place on the ship — the med bay. Light was dimmed, so it didn't directly hit his eyes, and Peter wanted to kiss the one responsible for it.

That soon changed when he turned his head slightly towards the tapping noise and was met with horrendous burning pain that made him wheeze and choke his breath back.

„Lay still, Pete", came a familiar voice. The tapping stopped. „The less ya move, the less it'll hurt."

Pushing down the pain, Peter crooked a right-sided smile — and it stung like a bitch. „I made a song for you."

„Ya did?"

„Yeah, back in jail", Peter was careful to move as less muscles as possible while talking. His voice seemed contorted as well, like he hadn't had a drink in months. And it stung. Everything, _everything_ hurt. „What happened to me?"

Kraglin was silent for a bit, looking at the younger with mild concern, tapping a small pad against his palm again. He was supposed to call the Cap up when he awoke, but the Ravager figured Quill could use some piece and quiet first. „Some brotherhood of yers it was, right", he rebooted his sarcasm. „Told ya not to go, Pete."

„Spare me the lessons and tell me what happened."

Kraglin lifted his eyebrows a bit, fondly. „What's about to keep ya from datin' for months, and maybe even till the rest of yer life."

Peter could hear him stand up and fetch something from the nearby desk. Then a horrible picture was shoved in his face, and Peter jolted back. And the picture jolted with him. Peter frowned, ignoring the pain it caused and slowly realized he was staring back at his own reflection.

Kraglin endeavored to hold the mirror as steadily as possible as he watched the destroyed face of a younger Ravager look back in shock and disbelief that looked so comical that he quickly lost the battle: a snort escaped him and he removed the mirror, not at all agitated with the look Peter directed at him.

„What are you laughing at, bitch? Are you seeing this, this isn't funny! I look like fucking _Freddy Krueger_!" the fact that he moved his mouth as little as possible and talked in ridiculously high-pitched loud tone made Kraglin double over with laughter as he sat back in the chair next to Peter's cot.

„I've no idea what ya just said, but y'shoulda _hear_ it", he wheezed, mercilessly letting out final remnants of merriness. "And be lucky ya still have yer hair."

„Fucking hell, I look worse than Taserface... I'm like his little brother now... _fucking shit_ ", upon realizing the following, Peter tried to sit up, but a firm hand stopped him.

„Ey, ey", all humor was abruptly gone from Kraglin like it wasn't even there a second ago. „Don't move, it'll take longer to heal."

„How did that happen?"

„Can ya guess yerself?"

„My brain feels fried, give me a hand."

„Flembrobitriiymzagen. The gas, idjit", the First Mate deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest. „Ya know, the red thing us two and some others like Tullk and Oblo ain't standin'? As soon as it touched yer skin and ya breathed it in, it scorched ya like the Sun. Cap told ya not to go, but ya had to play a big dude and go anyway."

„It wasn't me. The Goliath started first." There was a beat. „Who picked me up?"

„Who do ya think?"

„Is it...", Peter swallowed thickly and frowned as it stung all the way down and would've frowned at the painful frown if he had anything else to frown with. „Will I..."

„Yer gonna be fine, Pete", Kragling reached out and lightly gripped his shoulder for a second, then leaned back. „In some months, yer be back on track fuckin' Gramosian duchesses again."

They were both quiet for a while, where Peter just tried to stand the pain his breaths induced. If this was how he's supposed to go through daily routines now, he'd love to do it drunk, and none else. So Peter swallowed again, and water seemed like a long-time-no-seen friend. He turned his eyes Kraglin's way. „So, you wanna hear a song now?"

„Ya start singin' and I'll eject ya so fast ya won't even think of a first note", Yondu's hoarse loud voice pierced the air, including his ears, so Peter squeezed them shut hearing as the Ravager captain walked over to the other side of him. „How are his vitals, Kraglin?"

„Stable", his First Mate responded, and Peter looked over to see Yondu fiddling with a holopad, tapping hurriedly on it, no frown present on his face, which Peter thought was weird. He heard Kraglin stab the air with complex shit Peter didn't understand, deciding to focus on the fact that usually when Yondu was holopading, he was making a deal, and then he was always frowning, because he was usually giving money instead of receiving it.

„Set a course to Knowhere and get the boys outta the mess", Yondu said, eyes not leaving the pad. „Gather them on the bridge and explain the situation. Then get them back _into_ the mess where ya'll get them drunk as hell so they don't bother me until the day after tomorrow, understand?"

Kraglin's lip quavered to a smile. „Cap." He got up, gave a salute and hit the exit.

„Ya're allowed to get flushed yerself."

If the way Kraglin skipped a little barely noticeable was any indicator Kraglin was happy to no ends, Peter was willing to bet his life on any sum of money. So... that left the two of them alone. The pair was motionless in silence for a while, where only sounds were the ones of Yondu's holopad which made soft little noises that made Peter sleepy. But to hell if he was going to sleep before being answered this question.

„So.. how angry are you?"

„I actually left it hangin' in the air. I'm so mad I could gut ya with this arrow and so damn happy I'd kiss ya—"

„Oh, please don't do that", Peter begged, groaning. „I'd rather have the arrow, please."

„—but seein' as ya look like Taserface's twin brother, I reckon I'd have to cut my own mouth off", finally, the pad was dealt with and Centaurian lowered him down, folding strong arms over his chest. „So hit me; ya wanna business or lashin' first?"

Peter gave and sour face and flexed his eyebrows a bit and Yondu waited patiently. Ever since he came here, Quill brought that level of Terran weirdness and carried it everywhere with him, winding up on his patience at first, but after more than twenty years, the Centaurian has gotten old and used to the stuff. It didn't bother him as much as it should have, although for the sake of his reputation he had to display it did, which was tiring at times. Luckily, now it was just the two of them.

„Does it have to do with you practically forcing the crew to drink themselves drunk?"

„Yer weird as shit, Quill. But yeah, yer gettin' there. I actually did it to get rid of their stupidity for at least two days so I could go pick up my fortune."

„So what's the big deal?"

Yondu reached under his coat, a small hint of a smile lingering in his lips' corner. „Meet the reason of my renewed fondness of you. Actually ya already met", he pulled out a thin, shiny object that Peter instantly recognized. „And ya forgot to introduce me, so I hadda go diggin' around yer pockets."

Peter licked his lips in a failed attempt to wet them. „What is it exactly?"

Yondu reached over and Peter heard a hissing, then a glass of water was shoved above his nose, so Peter gritted his teeth and sat up, trying not to groan and failing miserably. He took the glass with shaky hands and nodded briskly in thanks. Yondu had already appropriated a chair from somewhere and was on eye level with Quill. At first his throat burned at liquid touch, but then it became so soothing that he nearly dropped the glass. Once emptied, Peter set it aside and the blue hand waved the shiny object again.

„This is Varynian glass."

„What's Varya?"

„Vayron", Yondu corrected. „'T was a planet. Destroyed aeons ago, swallowed by a black hole, so I have _no_ idea how a piece of that planet ended up on that slimeball we was at. All I know's that I wanna fuckin' give ya anything ya want in the world for noticin' this gold above golds here."

„Can I get a new M-ship?"

„No."

„But you said—"

„I'd go by my word, but _A)_ I'm a Ravager and _B)_ ya pissed me off pretty bad when ya got yer helmet off yer _face_ back there."

„That wasn't my fault, that bigfoot back there—"

„And then I hadda go drag yer stupid ass back after barely puttin' that helmet back, and almost died under that volcanic weight of yers."

Peter's face was comical and Yondu would've laughed at it, if the terrifying image of Peter hitching for breath and skin getting besprent with blisters didn't remain hanging provocatively before his crimson eyes. „I'm not fat", Peter said it so flatly, so bluntly, so _obviously_ , that Yondu _did_ crack up, going so far as to reach out and pinch a clawed hand at Peter's stomach. Quill jumped like jolted with electricity bolt and squeaked with zero dignity. „ _Yondu_!" he batted away at the blue hand that was already out of reach.

„Consider it a reward", the Centaurian snapped back. „Cause yer not gettin' drunk."

„Why not?!"

„Consider it a punishment — in other words, _yer grounded_."

„You can't do that, you're not my—"

„Which is why yer the only one going to Knowhere with me to pick up a reward."

That shut him up, and the thirty-one year old leaned forward with a glimmer in his eyes that made him look like a child as the gear in his head halted to a stop. _That's it, boy, use yer lil' dumb head for once_. „How much?"

Yondu smirked with sass and lifted the pad up for Peter to see the amount of furious zeros that decorated the screen therefore having the satisfaction to see the boy's eyes widen so much he thought they'd pop right out.

„Holly fucking sh—"


	4. Absolution

**~~~A/N: Shoutout to StarsAreOutThere for Yondu's background. She has a kickass story on Yondu's Origins, check it out~~~**

. .

.

He heard from someone long ago there's no creature more dangerous in the whole universe than a mother protecting her child. Comparison dumb to the bone for a situation like this, but it was the first thought that came to his mind when Rat screwed the fin to his head. A familiar bolt of electromagnetic pulse surging throughout him in a nanosecond filled his limbs with new strength — and his mind with reborn rage.

The screeching alarm and sound of door opening became an insignificant noise against chaos thundering around his head.

 _Ego._

The second he heard those three letters from the Rat's mouth, Yondu's mind kicked in killer mode and whole idea of sitting here and waiting hopelessly for death could kiss his ass. Instantly he formed an escape plan, but even through the entire process, one thing kept hitting him:

The obviously mentally-cracked child-killing insane god has found the one thing Yondu has tried so desperately to keep out of his reach for more than two decades, and has brought him to his planet.

 _Not Quill._

 _Not Quill._

 _Anyone but Peter Quill._

Seeing nothing but the jackasses face in front of his eyes, whistle was formed on his lips. The faithful arrow has found its was through walls, successfully ridding two guards off their lives and retreated back to get caught by his hand. Yondu stood from the chair, seemingly careless biting at his nail, while familiar notes of _'Come A Little Bit Closer'_ slithered around the Eclector's speakers. Those evoked a familiar memory of Quill hacking into the Ship's system one hangover morning. And it was just a year after he got picked up, so when he was questioned later in his room after whole thing had settled down, the kid just shrugged and said, „It was revenge. For your dumb blue ass abducting me from Earth."

Yondu was expected to pierce through him with the arrow until there was no more of him left, but as always, he turned it into a joke and laughed his ass off, getting the crew along with him. In retrospect he was impressed by how dirtily the kid played already. The Centaurian was gonna make sure Quill stuck to it.

Led by the memories surging, Yondu slowly marched through his own ship where he was held prisoner only minutes ago. Twig was trying to prove something by taking someone down. How he yelled through the whole process and beat the shit out of the guy.

So cute.

It triggered another memory. How whenever he was pissed while they were training — because ''Yondu was bigger and stronger than him and it wasn't fair'' — Quill would charge at him just like the Twig did; arms at the ready, screaming his head off and just looking damn adorable. Of course, regardless all the screaming, he ended up on the floor anyways. „Universe ain't fair, idjit", Yondu would tell him from above, boot pressing at his chest. "Sooner you embrace it, easier all this will go."

The memory was abruptly cut off upon seeing the last person he wants to see alive and walking. The fire in his read eyes as if increased, and heartbeat alarmingly doubled. Image of his spaced loyal crew members lingering in front of his eyes, Yondu dampened his lips anew and released the purest fire-whistle he ever produced.

Unfortunately, seemed like Taserface's instincts overpowered his brain big time. He dodged in time for the arrow to hit the oxygen pipes and pierce them though. From where he stood on the observation deck, the explosion shook the ground and Rocket's ears fell back in horror.

„You maniac..."

But Yondu's fierce grin showed nothing but satisfaction.

There was no time for satisfaction now, he thought heading to the third quadrant. For all that could happen they could've been too late already, but Yondu refused to believe that. He taught the boy too good for that. That kid wouldn't leave without a fight, not ever. Yondu recalled Battle of Xandar and determination in Quill's fierce eyes to stop the Kree warlord. He and his dumb friends all heedlessly surging to their own death (How was he any different now?), miraculously managing to not explode surrounded by the razor strength of the Power Stone. The Power Stone that the little idjit managed to swap for the ugliest console trinket Yondu had ever personally received. And the fact that it didn't hit _him_ , Yondu, who was the one who _taught_ the kid how to steal in the first place. It made him start grinning like crazy, even though he just got ripped off for crazy amount of credits.

The event seemed to take place decades ago rather than just months, and Yondu's chest ached. But then again everything else did a second later when that dumb raccoon launched them towards ego through seven hundred wormholes, and Yondu positively thought to flip the whole rescue mission and say 'fuck this shit' several times throughout the sense-twisting process. However, realizing why exactly he did all this manifested when they halted to a stop before painfully familiar planet and Yondu unleashed full capacity of himself, blurting to an animal experiment more of his life story than he did to anybody else alltogether.

It hit him then how sickeningly similar Rocket was to him, in all failures he's committed and the Centaurian refused to stand down until the other accepted it.

Yondu needed him to see that.

So that when it came to Quill, Rocket didn't try keep as much distance between them two as Yondu did.

When he had just stopped answering Ego's calls (that eventually reduced, too), he would catch himself thinking over the course of years what he would say to the lunatic when he saw him again. Not that he anticipated it in any sense, but lone nights on the deck — when sleep was less than recommended considering Yondu was a fan of living, not getting blasted in the face by a mutineer — made him think a lot, as well as making him finally able to think about things that don't concern captain business.

Some usually prepare for that moment. Prepare the whole speech, that is. The recitatives ready to get thrown in the hostile's face; a result led from hundreds of different pictured scenarios. Having power over someone via words was always considered more appealing.

Not to Yondu. He lives for simple things. Like—

„ _Hey there, jackass!"_

Well enough. Especially since the deliberate consequence of the sentence resulted in the said jackass being smashed with a craft. Yondu felt a bolt of pleasure surge through his entire body; as if something had been laying on the pit of his stomach for decades and was now finally released, ridding him off heaviness.

Then another clutch has squeezed it back into torment the moment he saw a familiar red mop laying motionless on the other side of the chamber. Something eased it when the green girl ran over to help and the little idjit moved. Tough nut he raised, Yondu thinks, trying to press down swelling pride mixed with ease rising in inappropriate moment.

Not gonna last long, anyway.

Angry rumble that sounded much like growling of a furious god evoked glowing tentacles of luminous energy that wrapped around the intruder with no hesitation and it had seemed to Yondu he had to reach everywhere at once to try move the ship away. But it was heavily smashed to the ground and no further force helped moving it. If they don't get out of this soon, no living soul will _remember_ any of them once Ego is done with—

„Yondu?!"

„Mmh", was the only greeting he was capable of producing, mind wrapped only around the fact they needed to get out of here fast. Peter slumped heavily into the co-pilot seat, a lingering reminder of what he'd been through seconds ago. Well trained instincts made him grip the consoles with no comment.

„Thrusters are out!" Yondu informs, still struggling to keep the ship moving, lest they were gonna get crushed.

„I guess I should be glad I was a skinny kid, otherwise you would've delivered me to this maniac."

Yondu couldn't believe his ears. After all he's been through for that—

„You still reckon that's the reason I kept ya around, you idiot?!"

„That's what you told me, you old doofus."

Yondu surpressed a grin. „Well, once I figured out what happened to them other kids, I wasn't just gonna hand ya over."

„You said you were gonna eat me!"

 _Really?!_ „That was being funny!"

Yondu could feel Peter's piercing gaze of at-long-last-revealed _-seiously-you-motherfucker?!_ epiphany. _„Not to me!"_

„You people have issues", came Rat's voice from below.

„Of course I have issues", Quill related, pointing outta the windshield where a grotesque, mouth-gaping thing looked about ready to tear them to shreds. „ _That's my freaking father_!"

Once the thrusters were back, Yondu surrendered the wheel to the kid, completely trusting him to know what to do. After all, he did learn from the best.

But instead of bolting up and running for their lives, Peter dove in towards the ground. „We should be going up", Yondu says.

„We can't. Ego wants to eradicate the universe as we know it and we have to kill him."

What a bummer no one told him.

While Rat positioned the laser beams aiming to pierce through the solid ground, Yondu gripped the consoles to keep the ship steady, easing Quill's wheel managing. Wherever Quill would turn, Yondu would follow.

And boy did it feel good working along with this kid he'd kept and raised all these years, and for the first time he could openly admit it to himself without being judged. He only regretted not realizing and accepting it before. And hearing Quill whoop in excitement despite more than obviously life-threatening situation was the best thing in the world...

It's not doing much to keep the egocentric's mad face from his mind, and his thoughts hit the bumpy road once again. Realizing they have long way to go, plus he really had to catch up with everything, he asks: „Why Ego wants you here?"

„He needs my genetic connection to the Light to help destroy the universe", Quill answers, focus on the wrecked pathway before him, reactions fast, expectations high. „Tried to teach me how to control the power."

„So could you?" Yondu asks, partially legitimately curious.

„A little", Quill admits and Yondu is positive he can read embarrassment on his face, and despite the kid trying so obviously to hide it, the Centaurian has learned to read it over the years better than good. „I made a ball."

Yondu's facial expression twists into one of comical disbelief. „A ball?"

„I thought as hard as I could", Peter insists, "but it's all I could come up with."

„Ya thought", Yondu echoes, turning his head to look at him. Was this how disappointment felt? Twenty plus years and this idjit still learned nothing. „Ya think when I fly this arrow I use my head?"

He had barely time to finish it before the strongest crash of all made them jerk backwards violently so Quill nearly lost control. It was quickly regained, so they had time to pay brisk attention to their surroundings. The industrial craft was found floating in the maze of rocky constructions drilled with bullet-like holes and their sense of direction was pointed immediately to a circular composition where everything seemed to flock into — the core.

It was supposed to be easy. Drill to the god's brain, make it explode until its pieces lay splattered around in that fabulous ''Light'' of his and say bye, but of _course_ the universe wouldn't let it be that easy. Kraglin's call came only a blink early before a swarm of Sovereign ships subverted on their heads, so Quill and his furry friend went over to teach them a lesson.

Which, frankly, made no difference at all.

And Yondu and Nebula had to resort to a very simple but painful technicality (but she was badass enough to admit she expected nothing less). Those bad guys never learn — while the golden gal gave what was considered a very lively death threat to her people's honor, Yondu had enough time to re-arrange the laser balls and, with Nebula's non-reluctant assistance, fire away with full force, steering the craft to dispose of the golden army. However skillful the idea was, they did suffer a damage, and it was completely irrelevant whether the ship was going to crash or will Yondu whistle it to explosion.

He opted for the latter.

Made the arrow descent more dignified, and interesting in every way, considering he got a first positive note from Quill in the past decade or two. However, hearing those words made something swell up inside his chest and burst out the most senseless and ridiculous statement he's ever probably said, but to him it wasn't meaningless. That Mary Poppins guy could kiss his ass.

Celebration was never long-termed. Within moments, Ego had them all in his fists (and buried under a pile of rocks) and pain was unbelievable. But amongst it he could feel a... presence... leaving his self. It was like a hook snatched something inside his chest and ripped it clean out; swift and violent. At the same time the fin seemed to become a lot heavier and he could actually feel its pressure on his head for once. Yondu didn't need to think his head off long. In fact, he instantly knew — the Yaka arrow was gone. It wasn't like other times when it was just taken away, confiscated or when he left it outside his visual range. This time it was really gone. And there was nothing he could do anymore.

Still, he mustered a final look to the left, and he almost wished he hadn't. Everything he'd been terrified off for decades, all nightmares that had had him guilt ridden the first time he realized what was happening to all those kids was playing out in front of his eyes right now. Quill, pierced through with multiple tentacles of blue light that made his head jolt backwards and eyes roll to the back of his head just like that bitter time when he caught a seizure in the engine room for being exposed to a particle that leaked out of a backup generator. It was only Peter's luck that Tullk was down with him otherwise no one would've found him for hours until the next shift, and by then it would've been too late. The anxiety of wait until he woke up lasted the whole day and drilled all Yondu's nerves to the core.

Pushing back the picture and hearing leftovers of Ego's voice, he cried out: „I don't use my head to fly the arrow, boy!" Quill leaned his head towards him, as if in acknowledgement, but Yondu didn't need it to finish. „I use my hea—"

Or try to finish.

In that moment, Yondu was convinced this was how he was going to die, but he was prepared. Even when he was walking through the corridors of the Eclector, only half aware slaughtering off the ex-members of his crew, he knew he wasn't getting out of this. One way or another. He was approaching the end of his line and he could feel it down his spine.

But then there was a slight movement in reality that he could feel beneath a ton of heavy rocks; a motion, almost visible in complete darkness, felt like sea current changing course. There was a loud boom and the pressure was gone, so with no hesitation in mind was he able to burst free, unleashing a yell of relief and renewed adrenaline.

In chaos that followed, nobody knew where anybody was. Except Rocket, who could obviously find Yondu, Twig nested securely on his shoulder. „We're gonna blow up!"

„Get to the ship!"

„Not without Quill!" Rat insisted, loyal as he was proud.

„You need to take care of the Twig."

Rocket paused, a strange glimmer in his otherwise steel, sentiment-free eyes. „Not without you."

Yondu firmly shook his head; the heaviness of the fin was still new. „I ain't done nothin' right my whole damn life, Rat.

You need to give me this."

And precisely those words showed him that he knew. That is when he was absolutely sure he wasn't going to make it. This was his final official message. The end of his horizon. The end of this misery he called life.

Rocket was fine with accepting it. And he showed it by accepting there was only one spacesuit and one aero-rig left, and they both knew what that meant. Groot seemed not to. "Welcome to the fuckin' Guardians of the Galaxy'', he says. Yondu's kind of welcome. Right before everything goes to shit.

While everything _did_ go to shit after the explosion, Yondu had completely lost _his own_ shit, seeing the kid kneeling in dirt as the world was collapsing on him, head down, arms relaxed. Like _he_ was the one who had to wait for his end. Anticipating death after he had done the best he could.

 _Did I teach ya to be a quitter, boy? I don' think I did._

The only one who he could've got that funny big heat from is his momma. Absolutely from no one else. Just because Yondu had told him to use it, it didn't mean it applied to fuckin' suicide.

He showed him who's boss. And by stars was he heavy as hell. Only velocity had stopped him from dropping Quill. For a moment he thought his final words would be 'Yer _fat_!', but Yondu was determined to make this right. So he did.

„I'm sorry I didn't do none of it right. I'm damn lucky you was my boy."

Well enough. Quill would have to deal with it. But the big dumb still didn't get a thing, not even when a small silver plate was pressed against his chest and a protective glow of space suit surrounded his person. Yondu snorted lovingly at that. He'll miss this kid.

He was aware of very little after that. Only vast darkness with blinking white, red and blue dots and Quill clawing at him, his expressions screaming and pleading. Damn space logic didn't allow sounds to be made, so Yondu — feeling ice sneaking up him like creeping fingers of a dead droid; no air present to fill his lungs with — reached up to surround Quill's face with his hands: the first mute message with no words at all in his entire life.

He refused to concentrate on past even though bits kept insisted upon blitzing back. Years as a battle slave, bitter victories that left no pleasure. Stakar and his ambition, his charisma and this amazing dream he had, of spreading Ravager clans. He could vaguely remember an excited expression of a young Arcturan as he was about to free him from the shackles of the Kree. The adrenaline of the first heist he's had, more fortune he could've ever imagined to hold in his own hands. Yondu remembered receiving his arrow; having an implant set upon his head for the first time, vibrancy that surged through all of him making him breathe a whole new air and look a brand new image of life. He could remember the feeling of his heart being ripped out of his chest when he was publicly accused in front of all Ravager leaders for betraying the code, and as a salt on the wound, Stakar's attempt at hiding betrayal, disappointment and pain in his eyes. Then the same ache being brought back when he realized what he had actually done. How many innocent lives have been wasted for his ridiculous fucking greed.

Someone once said that too. How life can flash before your eyes. But Yondu didn't give an orloni's ass. The subject of his whole attention — beyond grief, acrimony and regret — was right in front of him, and it was freaking out. Almost leisurely neglecting the pain (this wasn't about him anymore), Yondu gently patted the boy's cheeks, as much as cold allowed him to, but it spoke a thousand words. _It's okay, boy, calm down now. There you go, you're gonna be fine. I'm good with this._ Almost as if he could hear it, it did calm Peter down and those green eyes, once full of wonder, adventure and recklessness, settled right against his. Perfect.

Ice reaching his own eyes, Yondu's last thought was how it was the best final gift he could've received.


	5. Borrowed time

_**~~~Mark Petrie – Avalon~~~**_

. . .

. .

.

* * *

Peter was familiar with fire. In space, he learned, it was the only ever present element. Water, dirt, air — all of these belonged to the planets and what was on them. Fire was always around him. It kept the engines going, it provided warmth, it was in a shot of the blaster, and it burned in his eyes when he was in the course of action. Peter would often equate with this fierce element.

„Fire's one of the most dangerous things in the universe", Yondu had once said to him; one of those rare occasions when Peter felt him radiate with enough authority to be listened to. „It's an unstoppable force that devours anything it stumbles upon simply to grow and add to itself."

„Isn't water destructive, too?" then eleven year old Peter had asked, genuinely curious.

„True that, but water eventually settles down. Ya've seen it 'nough times for me to remind ya. What's fire do, Quill?"

Peter thought about this. „Fire grows bigger and bigger", he concluded. „Without control it will swallow more than it should, so it needs to be controlled."

Peter could safely conclude there was no _'c'_ of control in what was currently going on around him. This wasn't the Earth he remembered; green. Simple. Familiar. What was currently left of the third millennia technology was completely inconceivable to him. Granted, universe offered more complex things, but this Earth nested somewhere between what Peter once knew and what he was familiar with for the rest of his life.

But not two seconds upon his return, all was subverted to ruins. Tall buildings, marvelous, shiny cars unfamiliar stores, commercial screens all fell in matter of hours under the force of the army of Thanos. Even though they weren't alone — the Thor guy whom they rescued introduced them to his fine friends, although the introduction was very brief considering the next moment they scattered to stop the malevolent looking army advancing — Peter still felt helpless.

He knew Ronan was working for Thanos. He knew Nebula and Gamora's story, of exactly what kind of monster he was and even though he wasn't personally offended, Peter knew Thanos had to be finished off. He thought he'd made that clear to himself. He thought this whole situation did. Everything burning. Fire everywhere, swallowing buildings, scattering heat, twirling dirt as the air vibrated with noise and war.

Peter twirled the blaster in his hand, ducking upon hearing a familiar hissing noise he'd learned to recognize as Iron Man in very short time when the red-yellow suit flew over him to diagonally take down an impressive line of aliens, therefore providing him with enough time to reload the weapon.

When he next looked up and was met with no other than the said purple bastard, his only instinct was to stop dead in tracks.

Without ever seeing him before, he knew it was Thanos, and the height and massiveness alone were enough for Peter's mind to go dangerously blank without any intention of a simplest comeback. To say nothing of those steel blue eyes which stared him down from only couple of feet away. The periwinkle face, carved with grooves parted into a hideous grin and Peter could feel his whole spine electrifying.

„Move away, you speckle of nothingness", despite auditory chaos surrounding them, the young Guardian could hear his rumbling voice loud and clear. It shook his bones.

But he stood his ground and prayed that whatever fear displayed on his face was in as minor quantity as possible.

„None can do, sorry", one last crumble of sass evaporated with that sentence. „The fact is that you invaded my home; do you honestly think I would just walk past it?"

„You are asking to die. Good", the grin intensified. „Less struggle for me, I suppose."

Peter jerked his blaster forward, not entirely sure what will happen when he fires, but expectations backfired at him as a tremendously violent wave of light catapulted him backwards in an overwhelming speed. His brain didn't manage to properly register pain that caught his eyes, ears and entire body when another impact beat the breath out of his lungs and Peter was sure he was dead. But only after a mass of heavy, merciless concrete came down to bury him in an early painful grave was he absolutely positive it was so.

While the last flickers of consciousness slowly abandoned his mind and pain was so strong he couldn't properly scream with no breath left, he could vaguely register a female shriek exploding his name before everything finally faded away.

* * *

Opening his eyes next was more difficult than he deemed it to be, but moving any other muscle provided absolutely impossible. The only thing Peter could do was breathe and blink disorientedly upwards. Confused and not entirely focused to the environment, the Terran strained, trying to find something to remember or think of.

He remembered wanting a miracle. Like a child trapped in a body of a thirty four year old, shaking the frozen corpse on cold, cruel metal of the ship, yelling something about abandoning and a fucking blue hypocrite. But the miracle never came, no matter how much he screamed. Unleashing his voice just as loud as when he first left Earth did him no justice. Three hours of ''Take me back!'' and four of ''Bring him back!'' were just as incomparable as they were eerily similar. But just like when he was a kid, the miracle never came that infernal day.

Pain regained back his attention and Peter squirmed weakly. He was strained in an awkward position against something hard. It dug into his back and the man would've released a pained yell if only he had any strength. Light was coming from somewhere far above; a round circle of orange, red and unbearably hot. On either side of him was a cacophony of things that weren't possibly distinguishable. They laid scattered among rows and canons of constancy that stretched out into the distance, up, towards the hole. Peter recognized it all, in a way, the whole ambience, but couldn't put a name to it. It was a faraway, distant memory, reaching out off into the past and beyond.

Peter realized the heat surrounding him wasn't actually ignorable. He felt dry beyond belief, like he was suffocating, but at the same time, he wasn't. Opening his mouth, Peter dragged in raspy breaths, trying to figure out what was _wrong_ before he started coughing from sting that encamped his throat and lungs. It felt heavy, strong, pressing at his chest, slurping greedily at every drop of liquid Peter's body contained. Like a parasite.

The Guardian struggled to regain his breath back, to stop his eyes from tearing up at the sting and try thinking straight. He felt sweat tickling down his exhausted face as his paralyzed mind abruptly clicked into realization.

Fire.

It was everywhere. Swallowed walls around him, dark scattered things hanging all around the straight scattered monoliths that Peter's brain finally recognized as seats. It bit interspersed in various places, turning everything it gnawed at black and melted. Such was the devastating power of fire. Windows cracked, solid floor, narrow metal ceiling. And Peter was at the bottom of that seat-ornated burning collapsing tube.

All over, Peter relaxed. He was going to die. Twice? Weird. He never died twice before. Didn't he die already when he got buried in that massive concrete? Oh well, it didn't matter now, he could do it again. He could die twice. Enough people had already died for him. The soldiers of Xandar, people of Earth, his mom, his father... his daddy. Peter was sick of watching death in action over and over again. No more dying. He could see his own as the last one. Time to return the favor.

Peter released a long breath, ready to embrace fire and her enormous hot gorge; pain was expected. He didn't care, he was used to it. So he closed his eyes, embracing that it would be his last.

Something violently grabbed his coat from the left. He heard something being dragged closer. Another set of talons clutched themselves on the other side. Peter wanted to look, he really did. Perhaps someone had come early and was going to finish him off instead, and all he wanted to do was look the death square in the eye. But there was simply no more strength in him left.

„Gerrup", a hoarse voice said. „C'mon, Quill, gerrup. Open your eyes."

Peter frowned. He wasn't sure, but he would bet his Zune he recognized the voice and at the same time it occurred to him it wasn't supposed to be here.

„I know ya can hear me, Quill", the voice was insistent, but still gruff and reserved, as if it, too, didn't have enough strength. Something slapped at his cheeks, sending waves of pain through his head. „Get yer ass up or I'll get it up myself, and trust me, yer not gonna like it."

Both probably happened at the same time; Peter's eyes opened one quarter and the voice had finally become clear. „Yondu?" he wanted to ask, but all that abandoned his throat was a weak breath of the first syllable. A familiar blue face before him was tired and dirty and sunken and looked all about half dead, but it was still one of the most beautiful things Peter had seen as of late. „Yondu", he repeated, this time fully audible.

But Yondu's face remained firm as he shifted and gripped Peter's shoulder, using other hand to throw the other over his own shoulder. „You shouldn't be here. Not among us. You... you don't belong here. Not yet."

Peter let his body be lifted as his head lolled lifelessly to the side still not able to move a muscle. Heat enclosed around the, and Yondu stumbled, falling back with his motionless cargo, but he was there again in an instant, pulling at him. „Come on, ya idjit, gerrup or so help me—No – no! Open your eyes right now! This ain't no game anymore, come on. That's it, good bow. Now c'mon. On your feet, go."

Talking all the way, Yondu wrapped an arm around his back and struggled to straighten the Terran up, succeeding only half way. Something roared in the distance — a deep hard metal — and the ground shifted below them. As if it... slid back. All of a sudden — it hit Peter what it was that he was actually burning in. The train. A dangerously backwards leaned train that hung on whatever it was up there that held it balanced, stopping it from collapsing to... to...

... to where? Peter looked behind him and the glass door that separated this one from the other wagon and flinched in panic when he saw the other burning. Hence the heat.

Something gripped at his ears and turned him around and he was looking at Yondu again. His blue face stained in dirt, smoke and soot, his fin, glow lost and face that looked older and more exhausted than ever. But the crimson eyes still shone with something fierce, an agitation Peter failed to comprehend.

„Listen, Pete. Hey, look at me", and Peter fixed his eyes against ruby red when he realized they've wondered away again.

„I can't do this on my own", Yondu was holding his face now, just like that last time — Peter couldn't finish the thought for how tight his heart had compressed in his chest. „You gotta help me here, okay? You gotta stand up or we're both done fore, understand? I know it's hard and I know you're tired, but just this once cooperate with me." A small soft smile tugged at dry blue lips. „Just like the old times. Side by side."

Peter looked at the Centaurian as ember and smoke danced around them, a face he thought he'd never see again, grasping at his own same as last time, only with such desperation that Peter at last fully clicked back to reality. The world was on fire and he could barely breathe. Smoke was biting at his eyes and all he wanted to do was claw them out.

But instead, he forced his limbs to move. Peter Quill gritted his teeth beneath tightly pressed lips and reached out, catching Yondu's forearm. As the arrow-wielder's arm was at his back again, Peter grunted and pushed hard with his leg inducing all the force he had in every pore of his body to get up. When he did, he nearly stumbled back down from sheer slope the wagon was leaned at. He quickly gripped the nearest seat to avoid it and Yondu's grip tightened, so Peter threw an arm behind Yondu's back and gripped his coat to hold him there in return and so both men were standing up straight, at the bottom of a long, steep ascent, gripping one another. Just like the last time.

That was when his eye caught the perspective and what was behind the grip Peter had on the torn seat. The Guardian felt everything he had beneath that held him on his feet abandon him in a wave, even as he knew if he fell now, he would never get up again. So when he slackened at the sight and gripped tightly at Yondu's coat, who grabbed him in return, he did whatever he could to hold himself up.

Behind the seat Peter was clutching at was a clenched hand, curved stiffly like an eagle claw, still as a torn piece of sculpture. Pale. Dead. Peter's breath hitched in his throat as he scanned the train quickly.

They were everywhere. Shriveled, stiff, dead. Some had their eyes open, some limbs absolutely disturbingly dislocated, some were dressed in blood, some burned to the point of non-recognition, some decaying already, like freshly removed from the casket. But they were all one: dead, dead, dead. All over the floor, all over the seats.

And Peter realized the stuff, the things he's been calling until now were actually people. Peter was shaken to be sure he recognized one of them. „Saal?"

„Don't look at them", Yondu's voice brought him back to reality and hands, still strong, pulled him forward. „Move. Don't look. It's too late for them. There is no one in here that you can save anymore." Peter had to take in a few deep, shivering breaths to move himself forth. „They're all—they're my—my—" But his brain wouldn't form words.

Again there was a rumble, and a shrilling screech of metal and the ground beneath them slid a bit. „Shut up", Yondu hissed, starting an ascend. „Move. Come on, son, help me out. Together."

So Peter hooked his green orbs at him again, letting the moment swell between them. „Side by side?"

Yondu grinned and for a second, everything seemed to be alright. „Side by side." Now come on."

Peter pushed forward. It hurt like hell, every step was pure torture of pain, exhaustion and fatigue for his entire body on verge of collapsing, but he was walking for Yondu. And Yondu was walking for him. And that thought was all that helped him preform the next step. He was going to save him. He was going to save his daddy, and this time he won't make the same mistake.

Peter groaned and gritted teeth so hard he was afraid he'd break them, but without it, he wouldn't have walked. He would've succumbed to fire that roared behind him. And that wasn't what he wanted. Not if he could save Yondu and repay his life. Another turbulence and a slide and it threw them both off their feet. Only thirty more feet to cover. Peter gripped Yondu's coat harder and yelled in frustration and pain, digging them both forward.

It was a slow, painstaking journey through hell of two slugs who depended on each other, and only one of them was going to make it. They fell and got back up again multiple times, on a brink of unconsciousness, forgetting what and where they were. The only thing that mattered was the gaping hole of light that was getting closer and closer while death crept up behind them, seeming to mock them with every little insecure slide that could mean the end of them both.

At long last, Yondu straightened at the top, puling Peter with him. The younger looked up. The light before him, a swirling gentle vortex of white surrounded by menacing red and orange. The train hung off some wires, some of which were burning, some halfway off and some just on the verge of breaking — those were the ones left keeping the train from sliding off the cliff into...

Peter looked down behind him. Below their own and the wagon beneath which was entirely on fire downed the abyss of red-brown smoke and pure darkness. Something unearthly was growling and roaring from down there, rumbling like a mean engine; like a gigantic monster in a cave.

„You did it, boy." Yondu's voice made him turn his head to him again. The Centaurian had on him that mirroring expression of the one he gave him while they were ascending from Ego. A soft, sad smile, filled with pride, compassion and _love_ —

„Y-yondu?" Peter learned to be petrified of that smile. Of what follows after it.

„This is as far as I go, boy", Yondu said, waving off his head. „And there ain't much time here, either. So let me be quick—"

„No. No!", Peter gripped at his coat, frustration taking over. „I didn't pull you up all the way so you'd quit again."

Yondu lightly shook his head once more. „All these years and you're still dumb. Boy, none of this was about me. It was about pulling _you_ out."

„I won't make the same mistake!" Peter could feel anger rising as he shook the elder once.

„Didn't I tell ya", Yondu's voice didn't rise a bit. „There's no one down in here that you can save anymore. _No_ one."

„No, I'm not leaving you here. I'm not leaving if you don't go", feeling tears bite at his eyes, but not having concentration to hold them back, Peter felt his grip slacken. „Don't do this again, please don't make me go through it again."

„Hey, hey" one calloused palm cupped at the side of his face. „None of that, boy. Now listen up. Yer gonna quit this nagging. And then yer gonna get back out there and beat the fuckin' shit outta that inflated purple faggot. You sure don't mean to tell me you're giving up on yer beloved Terra. For someone like me? Gazillion lives over me? Whatever crazy sentimental shit yer head contains, boy, even _you_ know there's no calculations here."

This made Peter clamp his mouth shut, not being able to turn his eyes away from Yondu's as he always did. For a moment then, time stopped. Fire swallowed everything, but only two of them existed. Peter never wanted to look away. He was so afraid he'd forget the color and intensity of the Centaurian's eyes. Those which, in the end no matter from fear, anger or gratitude, always fascinated him.

Yondu crooked a smile. „There we go. That wasn't so difficult then", he paused, removing his hand. „You know what I see when I look at ya? I see the same defiant, fuckin' stubborn lil' kid who came aboard, wanting to gut anyone who touched his little music box. I see someone who's grown to learn and adapt, to survive and ensure safety of himself and those around him. I see someone who's never strained from gettin' out there and kickin' butt. Don't tell me yer gonna make this an exception."

„I don't want to leave you", the boy said, voice scrappy and hoarse, from heat, from sorrow, it was all the same to him.

If it was possible, Yondu's eyes softened even more. „This ain't no place for ya, my boy. You get it? If you stay here, this thing will go down and you'll never see yer friends again. Yer not done yet", a blue finger tapped his chest. „You got some mean Thanos ass-kickin' business up there to do. And b'sides. I've never left ya, son. Where ever you are, whatever you do, _who_ ever you do", Peter snorted humorously at this, more tears spilling from his eyes. "I'm _always_ with you. I will be when ya get back there. And I need ya to realize that. My part here is finished. Now it's time you do yours", he gave a warm smile. „Star-Lord."

That was all it took for Peter to gather Yondu in his arms and hug him fiercely like fire. There was such little time and Peter wanted this to last forever. So he turned whole attention to this blue idiot who'd saved his life more times than he probably knew and who'd given everything for Peter. Time, knowledge, tolerance and life. With no plan or awareness, he began stabbing apologies and thank yous at random, and if he slipped an I love you somewhere, he didn't realize it, all the time feeling gentle patting on his back.

The loudest and strongest shift yet had made him break the hug and look down to see the wagon on fire snap and fall screeching into the black smoke. There was a sound from the depths that made Peter feel like a petrified child ready to hide under the bed.

„There's no time", Yondu rushed him to his feet. „Grab the wire."

„What? But you—"

„That's _enough_ , Peter, do as I say!" he snapped, and as Peter reached out and did so, the old man threw him another look full of everything good in the world. „Remember what I said, son. I'm always with ya."

Then before Peter could answer, he turned around, as another roar from the deep shook the train. „You can't have him, you hear me?!" he shouted. „You won't _never_ have him! Over my dead body!"

A sound, torn between a deep metal screeching and maniacal growing echoed louder than ever and before Peter could even think about reaching out and grabbing any part of Yondu, the part of the rope near the train snapped. And so did the surrounding ones. Peter screamed without words, watching the massive conveyance transportation started falling in full speed, descending towards darkness that Peter was positive was hell itself. And in the middle of it, a barely visible blue smear.

Whereas the rope was released, the velocity shoved him upwards toward the light, still screaming—

* * *

A scream that decanted into one of renewed strength and rage as he burst through the layers of concrete, feeling on fire, feeling on ice, feeling in pain and delighted, and crazy and _doubled_. Blasters flew out of their hostlers in a second, ridding rows of hostile heads as Peter ran forward, continuously sensing something pushing him forward, and the feeling was almost physical.

Peter didn't fully register Gamora or Rocket running up to him. He didn't pay attention to her rapid question of what's happened with his eyes before she snapped an alien neck. He didn't mind the enemy looking at him in almost scared manner before he'd blast their skulls. Even less to notice they weren't looking at him but over him.

No. His focus was on him. The inflated purple faggot. The neuron star of the whirling pulsar of destruction who was to blame. And be killed.

So he stood straight. To his right, his family. To his left, the new friends. In his heart, his daddy.

And they all charged at Thanos with no second thought. Together.

Because that's how they were going to end. That's how they're _all_ going to end. Friends or family. Avengers or Guardians. Dead or alive.

Side by side.


End file.
